Chapter Nineteen #4
"That's what I thought," she said, suddenly exhausted. "I'm going to my chambers. Please have dinner sent up on a tray. I can't endure sitting across that enormous table from you tonight pretending everything is fine."
"Ophelia..."
"What else is there to say? You've made your position clear. My family isn't welcome, I'm barely tolerated, and we're both trapped in a marriage neither of us wants. Unless you have something to add to that depressing summary, I'd like to be alone."
She left without waiting for an answer, climbing the stairs to her rooms with legs that felt like lead. Mary was there, taking one look at her face and wisely saying nothing as she helped her out of her morning dress and into something more comfortable.
"Would Your Grace like anything?" Mary asked quietly.
"Just solitude, please."
Mary curtsied and left, and Ophelia curled up in the window seat looking out at the gardens that were as perfect and cold as everything else in this house.
Somewhere in the village, her brothers were probably at the inn, raging about her husband and planning how to rescue her from this beautiful prison.
And somewhere in this vast house, Alexander was probably in his study, convincing himself that banishing her brothers was the right thing to do for the sake of order and propriety.
She thought about writing to them despite Alexander's prohibition, but what would she say?
That they were right about everything? That she was disappearing into the role of duchess and losing herself in the process?
That her husband saw her as a contamination to be managed rather than a wife to be cherished?
A soft knock at the door interrupted her brooding.
"I asked not to be disturbed," she called.
"It's Mrs. Morrison, Your Grace. I have something that might interest you."
Curious despite herself, Ophelia opened the door. The housekeeper stood there with an odd expression, holding a letter.
"This just arrived, Your Grace. It's marked urgent."
Ophelia took the letter, noting it was addressed to the Duke and Duchess of Montclaire, not just Alexander. The seal was unfamiliar.
"Do you know who it's from?"
"The village physician, Your Grace. Mr. Granger."
Ophelia broke the seal and read quickly, her frown deepening with each line.
"What is it?" Mrs. Morrison asked, clearly concerned by her expression.
"It's about the Wheeler family—the ones who are being evicted. Their child has taken a turn for the worse, and Mr. Granger is asking if we might... that is, if the estate might show some leniency given the circumstances."
"His Grace has already made his position clear on that matter, I believe."
"Yes," Ophelia said quietly. "He has."
She stood there holding the letter, thinking about Alexander's cold pronouncement that the estate couldn't operate on sentiment, thinking about her brothers' anger at the injustice of it all, thinking about a sick child whose family was about to lose their home.
"Your Grace?" Mrs. Morrison prompted. "Shall I inform His Grace about the letter?"
"No," Ophelia said, making a decision that she knew would have consequences. "I'll handle this myself."
"Your Grace, perhaps that's not..."
"Thank you, Mrs. Morrison. That will be all."
The housekeeper left, clearly troubled, and Ophelia stood holding the letter that felt like a test. Alexander had made his position clear—the estate operated on rules and tradition, not sentiment.
But she wasn't Alexander, and she wasn't going to let a child suffer for the sake of maintaining order.
She moved to her writing desk and pulled out paper and ink.
If she was going to defy her husband, she might as well do it properly.
She wrote quickly, addressing the letter to Mr. Granger, promising that she would personally ensure the Wheeler family wasn't evicted and that any medical expenses would be covered.
She sealed it before she could change her mind, then rang for a footman.
"Please see that this is delivered to Mr. Granger immediately," she instructed, handing over the letter.
"Yes, Your Grace."
After he left, she sat back in her chair, knowing she'd just crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. Alexander would be furious when he found out, but she couldn't stand by and do nothing while a family suffered.
She thought about her brothers' words; that she was disappearing, becoming someone she wasn't. Well, perhaps it was time to stop disappearing and start being the person she actually was, consequences be cursed.
A commotion in the courtyard below drew her to the window. A carriage had arrived; not her brothers returning, but someone else. She watched as a well-dressed gentleman emerged, followed by several servants carrying what looked like documents.
Who would arrive unannounced at this hour? And why did she have a feeling that whatever it was, it was going to make an already terrible day even worse?
She heard Alexander's voice in the hall below, surprise evident even from a distance. Then footsteps, multiple sets, heading toward his study. Official business of some kind, clearly.
She turned from the window, that letter from Mr. Granger still on her mind, her promise to help the Wheelers already sent. Whatever was happening downstairs with the unexpected visitors, she had her own decisions to deal with.
Tomorrow, Alexander would discover what she'd done. Tomorrow, there would be another fight, another reminder that she'd overstepped, another cold lecture about knowing her place.
But tonight, at least, she'd done something that felt right, even if it was wrong by Alexander's standards.
She picked up her quill pen again, this time to write to her brothers.
Alexander had said correspondence should be limited, not eliminated.
And she had things to say, starting with an apology for the vase and ending with a promise that she wasn't going to disappear, no matter how hard this life tried to erase her.
As she wrote, she heard more voices below, Alexander's among them but others too, official-sounding and serious. Whatever was happening, it was significant enough to require immediate attention despite the late hour.
She paused in her writing, listening, and caught fragments of words drifting up—"inheritance," "legal challenge," "documentation required."
Her blood ran cold. Was someone challenging Alexander's inheritance? Was their marriage being questioned?
She set down her pen, her letter to her brothers forgotten. If their marriage was being challenged, if there was some question about its validity...
She stood, moving toward the door, then stopped. Alexander hadn't sent for her. Whatever was happening, he was handling it alone, as he handled everything. She was his wife in name, but not his partner in dealing with problems.
She returned to her desk, picked up her pen, and continued writing to her brothers. But her mind was on those voices below, on the possibility that their disastrous marriage might have found an unexpected exit.
The thought should have brought relief.
Instead, it brought a confusion of emotions she wasn't ready to examine.
She sealed the letter to her brothers and set it aside to be sent tomorrow, despite Alexander's wishes. Then she sat in the gathering darkness, listening to the murmur of voices below and wondering what new catastrophe was about to befall the unhappy Duke and Duchess of Montclaire.
Whatever it was, she had a feeling it would change everything.
Again.